


Fall Down, Get Up

by ForeverNotToday (Miss_Glass_Doll)



Series: Growing Pains [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Feelings, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 20:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13348746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Glass_Doll/pseuds/ForeverNotToday
Summary: He stares at the phone screen for a solid five seconds before he hands it back to Scraps and stands. Tells the guys that he needs to go relieve the cat sitter and cuddle Kit. Kent laughs off his teammates questions and chirps as he waves goodbye and climbs into his car. His smile falls as soon as he merges into traffic.





	Fall Down, Get Up

**Author's Note:**

> Just needed to get this idea out of my head after the last update. Not my usual speed, but might continue this universe In the future.  
> Not beta read, so all spelling mistakes and wonky language is mine.

“Ooooh, so he’s gay or whatever? Jesus Christ. You know, why can’t Zimmerman do anything fuckin’ regular.” Carl will be retiring in a few more seasons if nothing takes him out sooner, Kent's sure of it. And, as uncaptainlike as it may seem, Kent fully understands his own pettiness and need for revenge when he can't help but think how much he wished the guy’s ankle hadn't healed yet.

“Come on, Carl…” Scraps sighs, looking for all the world like a disappointed parent. Carl shoots the younger man an unapologetic smile as he continues on.

“Pft, relax. Did I say something wrong?” _Yes._ “I’m saying there’s always something _with_ him. Prolly why it took him so long to figure out the league…” Kent kind of wants to punch Carl, y’know, if he could do anything but stare blankly at the phone in his hands. “Oh! Oh, bet he’s real excited about the parade, eh? Hah! Haha!”

“Go back to your glory days talk, Carly.” Scraps waves him off, turning back to Kent. Carl wanders off to some of the other Aces in the bar, still laughing and trying to make a big deal of the situation.

“Well, shit, Zimms.” Kent can _hear_ himself say. Carl keeps laughing somewhere behind him, trying to get Swoops to voice an opinion on the whole debacle. Scraps looks back up at the screens, unaware of his Captain’s inner turmoil. Kent can feel that kernel of self-loathing that’s settled in his chest since the Grand Prix Finale like a ton of bricks falling on his head.

He stares at the phone screen for a solid five seconds before he hands it back to Scraps and stands. Tells the guys that he needs to go relieve the cat sitter and cuddle Kit. Kent laughs off his teammates questions and chirps as he waves goodbye and climbs into his car. His smile falls as soon as he merges into traffic.

His hands are shaking where they clutch the steering wheel. His eyes are wide and might be hazy from tears. His phone might be ringing on the passenger seat. His breathing is coming fast and hard and Kent honestly can't tell you how he managed to park in the garage or how he managed to drive himself home when he can barely see passed the tears welling in his eyes.

Kent makes no move to get out. Doesn't unbuckle his seatbelt. Doesn't turn off the ignition. Doesn't look at his phone that is definitely ringing. He's honestly not sure if he's even breathing right then. His forehead rests against his wrists, still on the wheel.

His door opens without his moving to do so.

Careful hands unbuckle his seatbelt, and turn off his car, and pull his fingers from their stranglehold on the braided leather wheel in front of him. Kent can’t bring himself to open his eyes, terrified if he does that the tears he is not acknowledging are there will finally spill over.

The careful hands pull him from the car. Someone’s saying something nearby. There’s a roaring in Kent’s ears. He needs to breathe.

Kent needs to breathe.

Jaena always says he needs to breathe.

_He needs to breathe._

His fingers clutch at something _soft._ Soft and warm. It bunches in his grip.

He’s sitting. Also on something soft. He sinks in the slightest bit when he moves.

He’s feels warm.

He’s inside.

He’s still wearing his shoes.

 _“C’mon, sweetheart_.” The roaring has gone down.

“ _Just breathe for me._ ” His lungs ache from lack of oxygen, but he can hear again.

“ _That’s all you gotta do_ .” Someone’s hugging him. _They shouldn’t hug him, Kent’s a mess._

“You’re doing so well.” The voice is smooth and deep and _painfully comforting._

Kent’s face is crushed into a slender shoulder. His heaving breaths trapped by the thick fabric under him. His arms are wrapped around a thin torso, can practically feel the ribs under his grip creek from how hard he’s squeezing them. There’s a weight settled on his lap and chest, slight and grounding.

The person whose ribs he’s bruising and sweater he’s probably stretching and crying on -- because Kent is man enough to admit that right now -- is running slender fingers through his hair. And murmuring encouraging words in his ear. And isn’t commenting on how much of a wreck Kent is over someone he doesn’t even love anymore.

“It’s alright. You’re doing so good, okay?”

They stay like that until Kent can feel his breathing slow and his eyes dry. Until he’s sure the sobs have stopped and he can think again. Until he’s sure he can face the _beautiful, saintly_ person he’s clutching to his chest.

His eyes are red-rimmed when he finally pulls his face away from the soaked yarn. The start of a headache building at his right temple. The weight on his chest pulls away. Dark, worried eyes stare back at him.

“I-” _don’t deserve you._ He almost admits. Kent clears his throat instead, tearing his gaze away from the one above him. “I think I got snot on your sweater.”

“Ha!” It’s sharp and loud, a gunshot to Kent’s sensitive ears. Those dark eyes close as their owner sags against Kent’s neck. “It’ll wash out.” It’s hardly a mumble.

“Ashe…” Kent’s voice trembles in a way the other hasn’t heard in  long time.

“Jeff called after you left the bar. I was on my way home from the rink. Are you okay?”

“...I’m such a dick to you.” He sounds far away. Like the couple downstairs that’s always shouting during the Price Is Right. Ashe stills in his lap, frozen for a second at the statement.

“Kent…” He’s speaking into Kent’s ear, soft and almost _wounded_ sounding. Kent can’t deal with that. Ashe shouldn’t be _sad_. Shouldn’t sound so small or unhappy.

“I- I can’t-! _Jack kissed Bittle_ on the ice in front of _everyone_ after winning the _Stanley Cup_! I can barely hold your hand in public, Ashe!” His hands fall from Ashe’s waist and clutch at his own hair, pulling the slightest bit. The pain grounds him for a second, before hands are pulling at his fingers and circling his wrists.

“Kent- Stop-!”

“I’m too much of a fucking coward to ever do that! I can’t ever do something like that for you, Ashe.”

“Kent.”

“You- You deserve better than this, Ashe. Better than a goddamned closeted fucking hockey player that can barely tell you how much he _fucking loves you_. Better than my traumatised-fucking-ass and only having a half dozen people even knowing we’re together! That should have been us, you know? Center ice with the cup over our heads?”

“Kent. Listen to me.” There’s a hard edge to his words, like he’s trying to not shout but doesn’t want to clench his teeth, either. Ashe's hands cradle Kent's jaw, the bands of his rings cold against his skin. “I don’t need big declarations like Zimmerman and his boyfriend. That works for them. If you’d ever tried that, I’d probably have punched you.”

“But-”

“I love you, Kent. I know we don’t say that out-loud often, but _I love you._ Okay? I don’t care that we act super bro-y when we go out, or that we’re still semi-secret. I love you, PTSD and anxiety and asshole teammates and all. Okay?” All Kent can do is nods into his boyfriend’s shoulder, not yet ready to face everything yet.

~

“I don’t deserve you.” It’s barely a whisper. Ashe thought Kent had fallen asleep by then. His breathing even and slow.

“Well, you’re stuck with me either way, so.” The younger smiles as he continues to rub Kent’s back, chin resting on the crown of his head. They’re quiet for several more minutes until Kent speaks again, shifting slightly so he can speak into Ashe’s collarbone.

“I love you, Ashe.” It’s quiet and steady, spoken on a deep exhale instead of a sob.

“I love you, too, Kent.”


End file.
